Blood and Heirs
by HelenaRow
Summary: Rose turns up on Lucius Malfoy's doorstep one late evening with her dying husband, who had been disowned by Lucius for marrying a bloodtraitor.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **None of the characters are mine, but J.K. Rowling's.

**Author's note: **This fic is set approximately ten years after the epilog of DH, and will most likely contain spoilers.

**Author's note II: **This is a slightly re-mastered version of the original story.

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**Blood and Heirs**

Lucius Malfoy was alone in his mansion. This state he had been in for some time and was not only caused by the house arrest. To begin with his wife had been with there with him, however that was a long time ago. His son had also stopped coming, first out of spite then out of death.

He was only seventy-two, he was supposed to be a wizard in his prime, but somehow he didn't feel like he was. His son was dead and his grandson had turned into a blood-traitor of the worst kind. Thus his blood-line was already lost. Of cause his grandson, Scorpius, might still come around. Money or lack hereof didn't feel as bad in the youth, but in time he might come to his senses.

Scorpius was the last Malfoy after all, and without any prospects of another heir, a turnaround of the boy was the only thing he could hope for.

He was getting old, his hair was graying and he had become weak. Of cause, it had been less than a year since he had last killed someone, which should count for something, proving, at least to himself that he wasn't getting old. Of cause that someone had only been a house-elf and an extremely old house-elf at that.

Lucius felt the dementors guarding the house, they were close tonight. At least they were not allowed into the house. The feeling of the approaching dementors was followed by a knock on the door. Followed by more knocks, desperate knocks.

He should probably not open, it was out of schedule, the aurors bringing the food for the week had been there earlier that day.

Outside it was dark, two figures in rags stood there in the rain. He could see the one who had knocked, a pure look of desperation. It was his grandson, the traitor. Lucius sank hard. He hadn't seen the boy for months, years perhaps, Lucius couldn't really recall.

The other figure behind the boy was wearing a cloak, which covered her head, the boy's wife no doubt.

`Yes?´ Lucius asked sweetly, almost having lost his patience before anything was spoken.

`Let us in, please, the dementors are coming.´ The boy who had once been his grandson begged.

`I know!´ Lucius said flatly, not moving. He was not going to let anybody like this into his home.

`Grandfather, please...´ The boy begged, holding the woman by the arm. He looked very ill and they were both soaked.

`Go back to the blood-traitors, Scorpius.´ He snapped, `You are no longer welcome.´ The dementors were advancing. Lucius could feel the cold of their breath and he had no intentions of letting those foul creatures into his mansion.

`Please...´ Lucius heard a voice say as he was closing the door. It was a woman's voice, the Weasley, he never did seem to catch her name. If he wasn't going to listen to his own blood, then certainly not someone like her.

But then he realized the woman wasn't pleading with _him_, but with his grandson. In confusion he opened the door again, only to see Scorpius lying as dead in front of the door.

The woman was laying on top of him, she looked like a bundle of wet clothes. The dementors were coming, hundreds of them, he shuddered, he couldn't believe he was doing this.

`Expecto Patronum.´ He yelled, a soft white peacock jumped from his wand. The dementors appeared to be moving away.

He took a hard grip of the woman.

`Move away.´ He ordered harshly, as if she was a house-elf. Lucius could barely recognize his grandson anymore. The boy was wet and pale. Even in the poorly lit entrance, the red blood from his chest had a powerful glow. Only the blond hair gave away that this was Scorpius Malfoy, the last heir of the Malfoys.

Lucius carefully levitated the boy into the hall, ignoring the woman, who was whining and sobbing as a madwoman. She followed, still covered in her oversized robes and scarfs, which perhaps had been supposed to keep her hair from the rain, it wasn't doing a very good job.

The woman was holding Scorpius, as Lucius examined him. The boy was cold, and most likely dead. Scorpius' gray eyes was staring forever at the ceiling.

His grandson had died at the Malfoy manor, or outside. He sat down, his knuckles going white, damn.

`I--is he?´ The woman sobbed, looking at him. Lucius had almost forgotten her. He ignored her, but she knew, he could hear it on her sobbing.

If he had had a house-elf left, he would have had them taking care of this. But he hadn't. Stunned he pulled himself up, his hair was disentangled. The woman looked at him, tears and paleness filled her face. He stood there for some time, damn.

Finally, he gained some self-control, he could no longer bare to listen to this wrenched woman. She had not lost what he had lost, she should not be crying, not yet anyway.

`I will take Scorpius to the dining-room.´ He said as if he was talking to a child. She nodded, and tried to get up as well.

It was then he could see her figure, she was bulging and clumsy. The many layers of robes and scarfs could not hide her pregnancy, he frowned. He was stunned only for a second, but she had already noticed.

Then he levitated Scorpius onto the great table in the dining room. He never used it anymore so it was dusty. The decay of the place was evident, even more so tonight.

The woman was still clutching her husband, and when he let his grandson sink on the table, she was holding his chest.

`He is dead.´ Lucius said, with as much hardness he could, which was surprisingly difficult. She gasped in between her sobs.

`You can stay here for the night, but I expect you to be gone in the morning.´ He said, but she did not hear him. He turned around and left for the cosy room he had been reading in,just moments before. Behind he could hear her. She was crying.

He sat down by the fireplace in his study again. The blood was still one his hands, it was dirty blood. For a moment he buried his face in those hands. One should not live to see both a son and a grandson die, even if it wasn't a very Slytherin thing to feel like. But then again it had been a long time ago he had been in Slytherin.

Perhaps he had become weak after all. He smelled the blood from his hands, blood was still blood, even though it had become dirty. How very fitting.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **None of the characters are mine, but J.K. Rowling's.

**Author's note: **This fic is set approximately ten years after the epilog of DH, and will most likely contain spoilers.

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**A Patriarch's Duty**

The presence of that girl, the Weasley, in the other room, scared him, more than he would admit. It was not so much her as what she was. The end of his line, and the beginning of something dirty, that would carry his name. He felt the nausea overwhelm him.

Unable to concentrate, he very carefully opened the door again. The young girl was still there; he had almost hoped she would be gone at this time. First he though she might be sleeping. She sat there as a stone in that dripping filthy robe next to the dead man. But as he came closer to the dining table, he could see that she was shaking in an unnatural manner.

`Girl,´ he said. More hoarsely than he had originally been meaning to. She did not move. `Miss Weasley?´ There was still no answer, could she not hear him? He wanted to shake her, forcefully. He wanted to punish her, for what she was, for the spite against his family, that she represented, for the spite against all wizards. He wanted to avenge his family, remove the spot of dirt from the family tree.

`Mrs. Malfoy,´ he tried so force a response. Slowly she turned her face towards him. The ugliness of sorrow had crammed her face into a red stone statue.

`Mrs. Malfoy, that is me,´ she whispered. For a moment, he hesitated looking at the dead.

`It is unsuitable for an unborn to be this close to a dead man. I will watch over him, please leave." Unsure on her feet, she stood up. Her eyes were still focused on the dead man.

`My bedroom is the only room, which is heated, second door on the right upstairs.´ She hesitated for a moment.

`I will not enter the room while you are there, do not worry,´ he said. She did not show indication that she understood him.

Lucius wondered if it was out of fear or cold, which finally drove her out of the dining room, leaving him alone with the blood traitor.

The white hair of the young man was cut short, and he was wearing muggle clothes under the outer robe. Lucius could not imagine a worse end for a Malfoy. Leaving life in such an unforgivable manner. Leaving a half-blood bastard as only memory. Lucius had had so high hopes for this man, he had hoped that this man would finally restore the family honor. Restore the line. Now that chance had passed and all was lost.

`How could you lead you pregnant wife to this place? With a half crazed man, who will have to kill her?´ Lucius asked, but received no reply. The boy had even betrayed his own child.

How the boy could sleep so peacefully, Lucius would never know. All the mess, all the blood, all the dirt brought into this ancient house.

`How can you sleep so peacefully, with what you have done?´ he whispered, but he was not given an answer. The dishonor kept Lucius awake every night. But his own dishonor was nothing to this. So of cause the boy did not answer.

Lucius began very carefully to remove the boy's clothes, with his shaking hands, trying not to touch the white-blue skin, as he removed the trousers, the t-shirt, and then the muggle underwear. The t-shirt was glued to the skin where the wound were. He had to use a pocketknife to remove the last bit.

Collecting himself a bowl of water he started washing the chest of the body. Then he washed the face. Mud and blood colored the water dark.

Traitor or not, a Malfoy should not be buried in dirty muggle clothes, and that damn widow, he feared, could not be trusted to do anything proper. Anyway, she would not get the opportunity.

The boy was still clutching his wand; with some difficulty Lucius removed it. He went to the master dressing room, passing the dreaded room, containing the half-blood girl. Carefully, he took the most expensive robe, an old black and gold one, which had been his own father's. And then he took a beauty-full dark blue robe, which had been Narcissa's. Dirty or not, the Weasley was also a Malfoy now.

It was strange, somehow, he had the notion that leaving the boy alone would cause him to flee or protect his wife. However, the white body was still there on the dining table when he returned. Scorpius lay there dead and unmoving. Strangely, Lucius was almost relieved.

He dressed the body and returned the wand to the boy's hand. He looked as something of a different world in the faint candlelight. As a statue of a memory.

`Farewell, Mr. Malfoy,´ Lucius said, placing an old hand on the boys shoulder. He had never felt like this, not even when his wife or only son had died. The boy was white and stoic as he lay there.

Now there was only one thing to do, in order so save the last bit of honor left in the ancient house of Malfoy. The duty was his, Lucius', to save what was left. Mrs. Malfoy would soon be following her Husband. He felt jealous.

`Do not be sad, your wife and son will be joining you shortly,´ He whispered in the ear of the other man. He took the robe and the pocketknife, knowing he would be jailed if using his wand for dark spells.

It was a long time since he had killed, strangely he did not look forward to it. And he would wish Scorpius would stop looking at him in that manner.


	3. The Mrs Malfoy

**Disclaimer: **None of the characters are mine, but J.K. Rowling's.

**Author's note: **This fic is set approximately ten years after the epilog of DH, and will most likely contain spoilers.

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**The Mrs. Malfoy**

The bedroom was dark; Lucius could see a dark shadow in the bed. He put the blue robe down on chair, no need to soak it in blood. It was strange that he should feel bad. Malfoys shouldn't feel bad. However, he did at this point, really bad, he would be the end of the family, and he strangely enough felt he was betraying someone.

He took the pocketknife and moved silently in the dark towards the half-blood.

`Don't move!´ he heard a shaking female voice behind him. And he felt something against his back. Years of experience had trained him to identify the feeling of a wand in his back.

`Madam! Please, I...´ The wand was pointing him forward. `My father warned me once,´ she said calmly from behind. Lucius would gladly have believed it.

`I didn't believe it, but you would really kill your own blood. Put the knife and your wand on the floor!´ He could so easily have done something. He only needed to turn around and send a hex at her. Why didn't she strike first, silly girl? Calmly he placed both objects on the floor and turned around.

In the dim light, he could see the figure of her, she was wearing Narcissa's nightgown instead of her soaked clothes. She was as he had anticipated holding her wand, but her hands were shaking wildly. She stepped backwards, waving wildly with the wand.

`I will kill you!´ She said. A statement Lucius seriously doubted. She herself did not even seem convinced. Outside were a thousand dementors, there was nowhere she could go. Her only chance was to kill him now, but she would be unable to, and they both knew it.

She was no killer. Lucius knew when people were killers, and this girl, this Weasley girl, was not one. The offspring between a bloodtraitor and a muggleborn, with no fortune and no name of significance. Why should she kill? How should she have learned?

He stepped towards her again and reached out for her wand. She avoided him, and clung desperately to it with both hands.

She looked like a ghost already, in the large white nightgown, with the wild red hair frizzling around her face, and a wild expression governing her every movement.

He gripped for her hand this time instead of the wand. She shivered, while he took it out of her hand with a forceful pull. She had the look of a trapped animal, and with good reason. She undoubtedly knew why he had come to her.

He pulled her to the bed, and pushed her down.

`It will not hurt you!´ He lied, taking the knife again. With his free hand, he held her hands together in a powerful grip.

Her body was deform with the pregnancy. Placing the knife carefully on the bed next to her, he carefully stroke the upper part of her belly, it felt odd. He could not feel anything; he had heard that it should be possible to feel the movements of the child. But only the mother's irregular breathing could be felt and the warmth of her body. She did not say a word of protest, just observed him and followed him with her big brown eyes.

During Narcissa's pregnancy, she had not allowed him to touch her, and during his Death Eater career, he had always avoided touching that part of women.

The belly felt taut, he stroked it on the side as he would have with an animal. This was his great grandson, the last heir of the proud Malfoy line. How he envied that child, never to see this cruel life, only the soft inside of his mother. It was a great gift. It would be his gift for this child and for the family tree.

Almost hypnotized he stroke the belly again. In a short moment he almost wished that his wife had looked like this. The girl looked red and wild; she was a little piece of nature. She was imperfect like a flower that had lost some of its leaves.

He loosened his cravet. He had problems breathing.

`You shouldn't be frightened,´ he said more to himself than to her, _he_ was frightened. She was still shaking. He took the knife again and redrew from her side. They had the whole night; there was no reason to kill her just now. He rarely did get any visitors.

`What was your name again?´ He asked while placing himself in a chair. Desperately trying to regain some calmness.

`R-Rose,´ she stammered, putting both hands, now they were free, on the belly. The protective gesture made Lucius shiver.

`Will you kill me?´ He nodded, strangely she almost looked relieved.

`Thank you,´ she said. She relaxed back in the bed and closed her eyes. He could see why his grandson had fallen in love with this girl. She was surely not a beauty, but she was something special. Now the rose had lost all it thorns, it was even more perfect. And it was lying on his bed. Spots were dancing in front of his eyes.

Lucius stood up and tumbled out of the room, and then he started crying. Malfoys do not cry, but he did now. Gasping for breath. It was too much. He had become weak. He was even unable to kill this woman, this rose. He needed to collect courage.

He loosened his cravet even more and returned to the study, looking for the firewhiskey. With his shaking hands he found the bottle, and poured himself a glass, finishing it just as soon and sat down.

He needed to think. His hair had become untangled, and his body was aching with age. He drank some more. Even a few years before he would not have hesitated a moment. But this traitor, this halfblood was his only family. And as a true pureblood, Lucius knew that family meant everything. That was one of the reasons, why it shouldn't originally have been so difficult to kill her.

He corrected his worn dark velvet robe. The furrows on his hands told him that he was getting older. He covered his face once more, and hoped that the lady in his bedroom was indeed just a phantom. Something he had imagined to ease the loneliness.


End file.
